Moms
by Shima-chan
Summary: He is seven when the illness takes Her. He is seven, has only one friend at school and thousands of words are tumbling out in his mind every day.


This is my first contribution to this fandom. I hope you'll like it!

Whit it, I won the Teen Wolf Challenge two weeks ago. I was really glad cause I haven't written anything in a long time. Since my contribution was in French, his is the direct translation of it. English is not my native language, I hope there is no big mistake left. Don't hesitate to tell me otherwise.

Enjoy!

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**MOMS**

He is seven when the illness takes _Her_. He is seven, has only one friend at school and thousands of words are tumbling out in his mind every day.

_Her_ too, the words were tumbling out in her mind: _She_ was vivacious, beautiful, light. _She_ was smiling to him constantly, even when her lips were trembling from exhaustion and fear, when demons were lying down behind her big hazel eyes and that her voice was breaking from crying out of her nightmares with terror.

He has read somewhere that we were really little things at the scale of the universe and yet, tonight, he has the feeling that he is everything and that the universe around him trembles, erodes, cracks. The universe is nothing anymore because _She_ isn't there.

He knew it, though, he has read everything the dictionary at home and the ones at the library could have taught him about front-temporal dementia. He knew from the beginning that there was no treatment, that the only way out for _Her_ was to fall asleep and to never wake up.

And tonight, _She_ has fallen asleep and will never wake up.

So Stiles is crying, head between his knees pulled up on the faded blue plastic chair in the corridor of the psychiatric service at the hospital, his little body shaking with silent sobs. He doesn't know for how long he has been here, letting the tears roll down his chubby cheeks, hours surly. A warm hand lands on his shoulder and doesn't move for a few minutes, until he notices that he is not alone anymore. He raised his blurred gaze toward the woman who has taken a seat next to him. Through the tears piled up in his eyes, he guesses a mat complexion and brown hair, almost black.

He takes a deep breath, hiccupped a little and wipes his eyes with the sleeve of his hoodie; Mom gave it to him for his birthday only a few days ago. When he raises his head, the woman is still here but he can make out big dark green eyes and a sweet smile. She seems a little older than Mom: she has few riddles at the corner of her eyes, but he finds her very beautiful. Her voice is as soft as her eyes when she asks him what is wrong.

"Mom is dead," he quavers.

He sees understanding in the green eyes, then sadness. The hand on his shoulder, still there, squeezes a little bit and he feels a little hot point just besides his heart.

"It's sad," she affirms with sincerity. "Are you alone here?

– Scott's mom is a nurse, she is taking care of Mom until Dad comes back from work. He is the Sheriff now, you know?

– Oh, so you are the Sheriff's son! I'm glad to meet you. I'm Talia, Talia Hale.

– And I'm Stiles Stilinski…"

He stops because he has just realised an awful thing: for a second, he has forgotten _Her_! Tears flow back in his eyes, Talia's face blurs again and the sobs are shaking his shoulders, removing the big warm hand.

At last, it's Talia's entire arm that slides behind his back while she gets on her knees and allows him to drop his head on her shoulder to cry. She smells good, he thinks, as good as a mom. She cradles him for several minutes, whispering soothing words that he does not all understand, her deep voice lulling him to sleep as efficiently as his exhaustion.

When he reopens his eyes, Stiles is in his father's arms and they're getting through the front doors of the hospital at sunrise. His dad's eyes are red and he can feel hiccups shaking the wide chest where the honourable badge is shining. He tightens his arms a little more around his father's neck and hides his tears in the collar of his shirt.

Stiles doesn't think about this meeting again before a few years later when, at the end of a school day, Melissa comes to pick Scott and him up. His father is being held back at the police station, so he is not going to sleep at home tonight. The following morning, when he hears his and Scott's fathers talking about the fire, he understands that another mom has died that night.

He wonders if a little boy is crying somewhere on a faded blue plastic chair.


End file.
